I'm a fate worse than death
by PuzzlePrince
Summary: Jonathan thinks he's finally found the solution to his apathy. Scarecrow and Riddler (potentially a pairing), mentions and appearances of various others. Horror/Thriller/Psychological.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Notes:** It's been a while since I've uploaded anything here, but I'm trying my hand at the horror genre again and I thought perhaps FFN would be interested! If you're not a fan of the horror/psychological/thriller genres, this probably won't be your thing, though.

* * *

_You could be the corpse and I could be the killer_  
_If I could be the devil, you could be the sinner_  
_You could be the drugs and I could be the dealer_  
_Everything you say is like music to my ears_

- Sarcasm by Get Scared

* * *

There is only one Edward Nygma. It's an epiphany, when Jonathan realizes this. There are several Becky Albright's, several Sherry Squires', and they're all mocking caricatures of what Jonathan had longed for as a younger man: confidence, strength, appeal,_ normalcy_. But he hadn't longed for Sherry and Becky in the way one would expect; he had wanted to trap them, irrevocably ruin them so they would resemble the hopeless mishmash of abuse and self-loathing he personified. He'd succeeded, in Sherry's case, savored the absence of anything distinguishably _her_ in her eyes when he had peeked in on the scene of her death. But Becky, he'd lost, and he doesn't want Becky anymore anyway. He doesn't want that dull compilation of medical and familial issues and he especially doesn't want the hardness in her demeanor they had parted on. In his professional, certified opinion, Becky is beyond salvaging.

But Edward, he's perfectly imperfect. As fractured as himself, but with an unyielding vibrancy that Jonathan has no desire to rearrange so it mirrors his own monotonous chasm of a character. For all his suffering, there is a strength in Edward that forces him to get up, and get up, and get up upon being defeated, seemingly fueled by his failures.

He isn't like Jonathan at all, who had been beaten down until his apathetic exterior had breached his interior so he wouldn't have to tolerate his own suffering anymore. He is, instead, all the perfections and imperfections Jonathan wants to stow inside himself so he can be as alive and vibrant as Edward is. He is the palette Jonathan wants to paint a new beginning with.

He chooses to pursue this through time in Edward's company. Now that the man had reformed, Jonathan could do this with ease. It doesn't embitter him like it does the other rogues. The transition enables him to insert himself in the mans company — often uninvited — far easier than their villainous careers had. In the Iceberg Lounge, at Edward's office, his home, Jonathan finds ways and means of being a permanent fixture in Edward's new schedule. Edward doesn't seem to mind. He engages him in conversation whenever he makes an abrupt, uninvited appearance. Though they never manage to talk for more than an hour, if that, with Jonathan being the epitome of socially awkward and Edward being quite the opposite. It's Edward who carries their conversations on for the longer length of time, and Jonathan really doesn't mind having them so one-sided because he feels like he's absorbing Edward, in a manner. Little by little, those words fill the cracks in his vastly less perfectly imperfect construction and he'll be as good at this as Edward is, given time.

He's patient. It's been a long time since he's felt compelled to rush. A month comes to an end, and Jonathan thinks they're what passes for 'good friends', by now. Edward is busier, occupied with his work and his various other contacts, but while Edward rarely manages to find occasions in his day for Jonathan, Jonathan manages to find them for him, even if those occasions have to be early in the morning or late at night.

So late at night, that sometimes, Jonathan isn't able to exchange words with the man sleeping soundly in his bed, oblivious to the uninvited presence at his window.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:** I should probably add that this story follows comic!canon. Specifically, it follows Riddler's reform.

* * *

There's a void in him. One that was present throughout his upbringing and his ensuing criminal career, strengthened by the acquisition and loss of the lantern ring. It had taken Jonathan a long time to identify that void as an all-consuming apathy.

As a child, he'd had the fortune of discovering he could synthesize happiness with the right trigger, and for much of his life, experiencing fear and inflicting it on others had been enough to do just that. He honestly can't recall the last time he had experienced happiness without some infection of hidden malice. Even the pleasure of eavesdropping on Becky and overhearing her confession of gratitude had been sullied by the desire to turn her into a mirror image of himself. It was as if the few influential people in his life had conspired at his birth to reap him of his existing benevolence, driving it out of him with every new life-altering event. Not only his benevolence, but everything he was entitled to as a human being, too; the ability to love and be loved, the ability to feel without the hindrance of years of regulated abuse, the ability to feel anything genuine at all. The lantern ring had forged a disciple out of his one reprieve from an otherwise hollow existence, and now, fear does nothing for him. Beyond yearning for the craftsmanship of Edward Nygma, he doesn't feel much of anything anymore.

Lately, Edward has been avoiding him. He can tell it's deliberate. He doesn't know what he's done to unsettle their relationship, but he can't make reparations while Edward continuously secures his doors and windows to keep him out. But Jonathan doesn't let this dissuade him. It's a hot, heavy summers afternoon, and he watches Edward converse with Harley Quinn just outside Starbucks. Two reformed criminals in civilian clothes, nibbling on bagels and sipping cups of coffee between exchanged words. No one suspects them for who they really are. It's a serene scene, and Jonathan wonders if purchasing a meal for Edward would be enough of a bribe for a conversation like the one they're having.

They're both very animated, gesturing with their hands while their mouths form shapes around broad grins. With his limited ability to converse, Jonathan hasn't been expecting any miracles, but why hasn't Edward ever been so energetic and enthused in his presence? It seems unfair that Harley, who had regarded Edward as little more than a poor-man's Joker prior to her reformation, was effortlessly earning Edward's affections when Jonathan had been trying for over a month to have Edward regard him as a close friend.

Does Edward really like Harley more?

He doesn't see the appeal.

He shifts from his hiding spot in an adjacent coffee shop to get a better view. There are children skittering around his long, knobbly legs, but he ignores them and pushes past their flailing limbs so he can sit in a straw chair just outside the window. From there, he can better see the shocking green of Eddie's eyes and his bright, white teeth, not vaguely yellowed like Jonathan's own. Jonathan doesn't look at Harley. He ignores Harley. That is, until Edward sets a hand on her shoulder and leans in to whisper in her ear, something soft and it must have been humorous, because Harley immediately breaks into a fit on giggles and slaps his chest with her dainty little fingernails, shaking her head so hard her pigtails slap her cheeks. Edward's grin takes on a devious edge, and Jonathan — he hadn't been angry before, but he feels it now. The acceleration of his heartbeat, thumping hard against his ribs in suggestion that maybe, maybe he isn't actually alright with this. The accompanying emotion is almost absent, but it's not usual for his physical responses to tell him more than his mental. It had been much the same at the time he had been in possession of lantern ring.

He's so close to Edward, perhaps he's feeling the indignation Edward rightly should be? How dare Harley try to befriend him after disregarding him for the entirety of his criminal career! How dare she sneak into his life during the one time it wasn't turbulent! _How dare she_. She has no right. She hasn't earned Edward in the way Jonathan has, over a month of prompting casual conversation and inching his way into Edward's daily life.

His face remains impassive, an impeccable mask of indifference despite the unscrupulous act taking place before his eyes. The hot apple pie he had ordered thirty minutes earlier had gone cold, and he finds that he has lost his appetite. He picks it up, returning to his original seat where the frolicking children are now sitting, waiting for their parents to return from the front counter. Jonathan sets the pie on the table in-front of them, along with a plastic spoon, smiling in a too-obviously forced manner as he glances up at catch sight of Edward and Harley again. They're still in front of Starbucks, just talking now, having finished feasting on their order of bagels and coffee.

"Put sugar on it," he tells the children, looking back down. "It'll taste nicer that way." The children thank him profusely as he leaves their table, exiting the coffee shop to head to his car.

To protect Edward's livelihood, and to ensure that Edward is his, and only his, it's obvious what he has to do.

He drives a little ways up the street and parks in a convenience store car park, where he waits for to Harley come skipping merrily up the footpath. It's well known among the rogues that her drivers license had been rescinded for reckless behavior on the road, as she had spent weeks whining about it while incarcerated, and now that she had reformed, it would be several months before she would be permitted to drive again. As she passes his car, he sets it into drive and discreetly follows her back to her apartment building.

It's strange, how thrilled she appears to be to see him when he knocks on her door. With some effort, he manages to form a tiny, tight smile on his lips, stepping inside without invitation.

"Miss Quinn, do you mind if I grab a quick something to eat? I'm famished."

It would be far easier to clean blood off kitchen tiles than her wood slated floor.

* * *

From Harley's calendar, he's told she and Edward have (well, _had_) another date arranged for later in the week. Thursday evening, at a nearby Italian restaurant for Harley's convenience. He's familiar with the place, he'd gone there himself for a meal earlier in the year. Jotting down the day, time, and location, Jonathan picks the calendar off the wall and sets it on the kitchen table so he can grab it on his way out.

Enough time has passed for Harley's body to become cool to the touch. He almost likes her like this; uncharacteristically quiet and still, skin as white as porcelain where it isn't stained crimson. With Edward's fondness for the girl, perhaps he too would enjoy her improved visage. It might be possible for him to preserve her long enough to present her as a gift.

Just in case, he decides to scoop her into a sack and take her home.

* * *

Keeping in mind the recent instability of their friendship, Jonathan sits in his car and waits for Eddie's arrival before he heads inside to take his place at their designated table. It's far away from the other patrons, at the very back of the restaurant, occupying a corner. The reservation must have set Eddie back a hundred dollars or so, because it's an ideal set-up; shadowed enough to be bathed in the light of the candles set in the middle of the table, with a lush red tablecloth stretching from corner to corner, and a creamy white backdrop surrounding them. Chosen, of course, for Harley's colour scheme. A small green parcel sits opposite Edward. A gift on a date seems a bit much, in all honesty, but Edward is known to overdo these things. Jonathan takes the liberty of claiming the gift for himself as he slides into the chair in front of Edward, who very nearly jolts to his feet at the sight of him.

His nimble fingers work the tape away from the wrapping paper as he greets Edward, "Don't worry, Edward. I'm just here in Harley's place." There's another box inside, which prompts an arch of his eyebrow. "She couldn't make it."

Seeming to regain his senses, Edward tries to reach across the table for the parcel. He's easily hindered by Jonathan wrapping his fingers around his wrist and refusing to let go, even when Edward attempts to retreat. "Give me that!" he snaps, lips pulled back in a snarl. "Where's Harley? Why couldn't she make it?"

"We're in a restaurant," Jonathan reminds him. "Lower your voice."

Edward doesn't. He repeats himself, louder than before, "Why couldn't she make it?"

Jonathan's nails dig into his wrist, briefly, before he catches himself and runs the pads of his fingers over the indents to sooth them. His comforting gesture only seems to perturb Edward. "I'm sorry. She won't be making any of your future reservations either."

"I really don't appreciate riddles as much as I used to, Jon — speak clearly!" Edward voice is even louder, hinging on hysterical. "Has she returned to that damned clown?" A nearby waitress pauses to stare. Some patrons have turned their heads, but only briefly; their merrymaking is more important to them than this apparent lovers spat.

Jonathan decides he might as well be up-font with Edward, "She's deceased. She died earlier this week."

That quietens him. His skin takes on a deathly pallor, and when Jonathan finally releases his wrist, Edward merely reels back and hits the seat of his chair with a gentle thump. "What — is this some sort of joke —" his voice is a wavering line of syllables that sound nothing like the words he's trying to produce. Jonathan allows him his moment of mourning, unwarranted though it is; Harley was nothing special, she didn't deserve Edward's melancholy.

With his hand now unoccupied, he's able to resume unwrapping Edward's gift. He lifts away box after box, until he comes across a key.

It's a small, silver apartment key, and Jonathan knows exactly what one it grants entrance to.

"She was going to move in with you?" he asks. Edward seems to be too occupied with his own reeling thoughts to notice the edge of loathing in Jonathan's otherwise calm, monotonous voice.

"What does it matter?" He hisses. "If she's dead as you say, she won't be doing much of anything." At least he's able to form full sentences now, Jonathan thinks.

"It matters."

Jonathan stares down at the box, at the key.

And there must be something telling in his expression, when he looks up again, because Edward leaps out of his chair upon seeing his face. Jonathan attempts to catch him, jumps straight out of his own chair, reaching with long fingers for the back of Eddie's dress shirt. But it's too late; he's zipped around tables and slipped out the back door before Jonathan can hope to apprehend him.

It's alright, though, because it's too late in the day for a locksmith and Edward won't be able to lock him out for now. He's subdued by the thought of Edward thinking of him, and only him, for the rest of the night. He sits back in his chair, the boxes and key in his lap.

Maybe it's time to change tactics. If Edward isn't going to come willingly, he would have to show Edward the repercussions of refusing to reciprocate.


End file.
